MUSE
by aynai
Summary: In some unknown town in England, the failed poet Kai, in search for inspiration, meets with a self-obsessed beauty, Ray, a manservant. Will h epoet recognise his Muse and converse with it before it is too late? Betrayal,lies, lyricism, and romance
1. Chapter 1

MUSE

Passionate lovers on top of the silence

Of everlasting denial

I walk through snow

To the temperate lands of your heart

Preciousness of the soul

Sadness of the last instant

_Waiting waiting always waiting_

_I see my land but no there's no bridge_

_Here I will stay_

_Alone_

Snow was falling on the damper side of an English town. Amongst the scatter of the crowd a young boy squeezed himself through, like a nasty scratch on an otherwise impeccable canvas. His deep golden eyes reflected the whiteness of the snow, his tanned face coloured from the cold. On turning a street corner, the silky subtlety of his hair left an everlasting impression on the dismal grey snow.

At his window, a man looked down from a warmly-lit room. All that could be discerned from the street was his short, grey hair, snowy-white face, and the long comfortable robe he wore. The moment the boy left the street, the face diluted itself behind the glass.

"Good morning Mr Kai"

"And how are you today, Lady Carlington?"

"Better, dear, please, sit down.."

"Not today, thank you, I need to speak to your husband..."

"Your uncle is in his study."

"Thank you madam."

"Where is that damned boy? Ray! Hurry up!"

"Yes, sir."

"Deal with the coat later! Just bring us some port and cigars!"

"But sir..."

"immediately."

"As you wish, but it is only ever ten o'clock in the morning..."

"We have some trying business to attend to, stop questioning my authority...Leave his coat for Heaven's sake!"

"...Sir."

"..Servants, I tell you, not the same nowadays!"

"Its those foreign types, very difficult to handle."

"But at least I don't have to pay him, be damned if i had to..; And he speaks perfect English."

Books, chairs, cabinets, an elegant desk, ornaments , paintings, vases. So much wealth for such an untrustworthy man. But sometimes one just cannot be picky about their source of income. He sat down heavily on a chair, facing the desk and the spines of the books displayed behind it. A man, much alike the younger one sitting opposite him, grey hair, white skin, and deep almost red auburn eyes looked up from his letter-writing.

Shoes, pots, pans, polishing wax, brooms, turnips, shirtsleeves, basins, roughly mahogany-hewn

table, shoes. The kitchen was tidy, but one could still smell and feel the untidiness of it. The cook was bent over the stove, mixing something, avoiding his gaze. Three maids, two from the house's staff and another from next-door's, sat at the table, sewing. There was a parlour for such clothes-related tasks, however the kitchen was where the fire was. He polished the shoes as hard as he could, admiring his reflected gaze in the oppressive black leather. He was beautiful, and he knew it. The furtive looks coming from the table were directed at him, the obstinate hostility emanating from the stove was addressed to the three much younger admirers, who had many more chances to win his heart. The hushed voices were talking about him. Doubtlessly. He could not hear, see, nor be sure of anything, but he knew this was true. Brilliantly polished shoes never lie.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning. Not many people today , Stevens?"

"Oh no, the cold is certainly keeping everyone from leaving their respective homes, sir. Venturing into the streets may be considered as a bit of an ordeal as opposed to the comfortable warmth of a fire in one's room ."

"Always the Joker, Stevens, keep up the good work."

"Thank you, sir"

"Oh my, seems like its just you and me here today; Kai old boy."

"Max.."

"I say , why the gloomy expression?"

"I have been disinherited."

"Good Lord, are you sure there?"

"My uncle spoke to me about it this morning."

"But what on earth for? You are his only heir!"

"There's Hilary."

"Carlington's daughter... but they are not even blood related!"

"She is more English than I am."

"A bit harsh a decision, don't you think?"

"The farther I am from him and his dismal affairs, the better I feel."

"So why the unhappy expression then? Now you're rid of him for good, old chap"

"An entire primary and secondary education in public schools and Oxbridge have done you no good, Max."

"HA! You've had to put up with worse..."

"Exactly, and I don't need your "oldchapping" me to remind me of it."

"Alright, alright,... you still have not answered by initial enquiry..."

" Anymore and I'll put you and Stevens toa speaking match."

"Kai!"

"Oh but its the money, Max, forever and always the money."

"Ah. No worries, I'll fund you"

"There is no way the heir to a famous American banker would be ready to pay for the keep of a desperate, anti-liberal, revolutionary, over-lyrical, miserable, poet."

"The way you put it!... Sounds as if I'm some sort of capitalist monster."

"But you are , Max, whether you like it or not."

"And you. Your mother was a Russian countess, no? Besides, Marx is part of your library."

"You are not necessarily an image of your fathers, Max, you know that better than anyone else."

"My point exactly."

"Oh lets drop it, my worthless life is boring conversational material."

"What was that about rivalling Stevens' language?"

"Haha! I'm warning you...Anyway, how's that lovely wife of yours?"

"Emily? As American as ever. Wouldn't mind talking to her would you? Show her how foreigners can integrate themselves perfectly into British society?"

"Like you?"

"My mother's half-Scottish, you're Russian."

"Ah but my father was English, that only makes me half-foreign."

"No need to be facetious, Russian is less British than Scottish."

"I suppose."

"Come over tomorrow, we're having a bit of a party, Tyson 'll be there. Oh, and Hilary Carlington, but I swear I didn't know.."

"Why don't you ask Tyson to deal with her?"

"He's not English enough"

"Hmm, yes, I see what you mean"

" Oh come on, bring some of your poems, we could have a reading."

"That is such an aristocratic concept..."

"Bourgeois, surely."

"But my poems are not like that, the sort you read, well, in "readings".You'll never like them"

"As long as they distract us from reality, it's a good thing."

"Your reality is no where near worthy of being distracted from."

"Oh just come yourself, WITHOUT your poems. Tomorrow evening, Mr Starling's place, wants to try out his new piano or whatever, or was it his newly decorated dining room?.."

"I suppose I could pass by.."

"Ah, coffee, thank you Stevens. Oh and by the way..."

"Don't push it , Max."


	2. Chapter 2

MUSE (ii)

The sun came out the next day, and the snow glistened like it never had before. The room had lost its warmth when the young man had left. He realised he had not asked for his name. But there was no need. He had found it. He had found his inspiration again. All those days lost in sad thoughts and long, lonely and fastidious nights facing an empty page were over. He had found his Muse.

The shoes shone as brightly as before on the kitchen doorstep. He smiled at the two maids who both blushed. The cook snorted and pushed down hard on her rolling pin. He gracefully went about his tasks, brought out more brandy and cigars when needed, and was sure he was complimented for his assiduity. Just as he was about to leave the house in order to buy more polish, when he was announced that they would be entertaining tonight.

"Ah, Maximilian, how are you? And this must be your charming fiancée, Emily is it? I say, my boy, you have done well for yourself."

"Max, you didn't tell me we were meeting with a real old school "gent" this evening, I would've come more prepared."

"Oh my, I am no gent, as you put so well.!.. Max here however is the real "English gent" type."

"That's probably why I agreed to marry him."

"Emily!"

"And here's Tyson, how is our young Japanese friend doing today?"

"Very well, I thank you, Mr Starling. How do you do, Max, Emily? Not too cold for our little American lady?"

"I'm no lady, Tyson, and besides, I come from Chicago, its at least ten times colder there than here."

"I'm sure it is."

" Is that the door I'm hearing? Must be Kai and Hilary, Kai is going to show me how to adapt to England and English society.."

"Hilary is here, you say?"

"Now now, Tyson, don't tell me you didn't come here without the slightest hope of meeting her, unexpectedly?"

"I don't know what you're going on about, I'm going to try some of those canapés, this looks terribly tempting at the moment."

"HA! You never change, old boy."

"Now, Max, you know I'm a great admirer of English cuisine"

"Cuisine in general you mean.. My, isn't anyone going to answer that door?"

"Where is that blasted servant of mine? RAY, the _door_...Oh, you're there, serve the drinks later, get the door before they freeze to death!"

"Sir."


	3. Chapter 3

Snow drop, snow flakes, snow, cold, great black door, warmth radiating through the windows, laughter. The young girl at his arm shivers a little. She has elegantly dressed chestnut hair, pretty brown eyes, a cheery face. Her emerald dress scrapes against her dark coat as she leans against him for warmth. The door opens, and all the warmth from inside rushes into him.

Lights, glasses, dark suits, a pretty lady, smells from the kitchen, snow falling outside. He stands, elegant in his dark clothes, serving gracefully. The doorbell rings, he is pushed into the hallway. He opens the door. A beautiful young lady stands, hair falling on her shoulders, brown eyes gazing expectantly inside. And he is there. The cold outside hardly touches him.

"Ma'am, Sir."

"Get in Hilary, into the heat."

"Oh, its so cold!"

"Don't wait for me, run along and meet the others"

"Alright."

"May I take your coat sir? Its quite warm in here."

"Ah yes, thank you, terribly hot.."

"The heat from the fireplace hardly gets into the hallway, maybe you'll like to go through to the drawing room?"

"My, if this isn't warm, I don't think I should venture in there.."

"Sir?"

"Ah, yes, my coat, here."

"Thank you, now if you will please..."

"RAY, get on with those coats! Honestly, the lady needs a drink, cold as death she is!"

"Right away, sir."

"Wait, you're name's Ray, isn't it?"

"As you heard, sir"

"Don't call me "sir""

"Why ever not?"

"Ah.."

"If you will excuse me..."

"Yes."

Food, glasses, plates, the sound of cutlery brushing against porcelain, candles shining bright, the young servant gliding between the dining room and the kitchen, between chairs, helping guests to some more wine. The candles burn, burn into his skin. It is stifling. The young man leaves the room again, and he is left stranded, eyes watering.

Up and down the stairs, into the kitchen, outside for the sorbets, in the cabinet for fresh bottles of wine, sauce dishes floating from one end of the table to another. The host doesn't bustle him about, he is left to fly freely between the guests, showing off his brilliant apparel, his gorgeous features, smiling only slightly so as to remain calm and decent. Nearing one part of the table makes him sweat, so much that when he leaves the room, he has to loosen his tie.

"Well, Kai, you seem very moody."

"I am not in my best of shapes, sorry."

"Oh no need to feel sorry, Hilary told me about what happened with your uncle, shame you never got along."

"Mind you, it is convenient for you, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, come, you think I do not notice when other men gaze mournfully over at my sister?"

"Step-cousin... what's going on Tyson, Kai?"

"Nothing, Hilary, your STEP-cousin's being awkward."

"Its never bothered you before that I called her sister, what's with the political correctness?"

"I'm sorry, my friend, but we cannot have a Russian in the family."

"Appropriating her already are you?"

"It's been decided for a long time, Kai."

"Not without my consent, it hasn't, sis."

"Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry.?"

"Don't call me "sis" when you insult my fiancée."

"I'm sorry, I missed a chapter, since when...?"

"Oh, who cares Kai? It was bound to happen anyway.."

"Emily, rule number one in British etiquette: mind your own business and shut up."

"I say, steady on old chap!"

"Here we go, where's Stevens?or Ray? Let's have Ray over, Ray? Ray!"

"What in the world has my manservant to do with any of this?"

"Just some stupid joke, which began with Kai's insulting my lexicon.."

"Max, high-class mannerisms just don't suit you..."

"Kai, please, don't start making a scene!"

"What do you care, HALF-COUSIN? I'm not part of the family anymore, according to your self-appointed fiancée here."

"Either he leaves or I do."

"Here, here!"

"Now, now, everybody, just calm down, anymore brandy anyone?..My dears, another chocolate?..Coffee, perhaps?"

"God I need a drink, this is not going well."

"You started it, Kai."

"No, you did."

"I only asked you how you felt."

"Please, everybody just calm down, Kai, I think you may have drunk a little too much.."

"Anymore plastered than that and he'd be rolling on the floor singing crude songs.."

"Now, that would be amusing to see, dear."

"God, shut up, shut up!.."

"Kai, why do you have to be so unpleasant?"

"I'm not talking to you anymore, nor to your stupid fiancée, nor to the dandy and American lioness here.."

"Fine, That's it, I must leave. Would you mind accompanying me, Tyson?"

"Pleasure, Hilary, I shall just fetch our coats."

"I think we should be scurrying off as well, Emily, what do you say?"

"You've really spoilt this evening, Kai."

"You've changed... all of you... why is everyone against me?"

"No, _you_'ve changed, old boy, and it's a good thing you didn't bring any of your poems, because they might have been just a load of Marxist crap.."

"Well, when it comes to insulting me, he gets his bad language back!"

"Kai, Max , NO! Stop it, get off him, Starling, help me!"

"You bastard! Never try to cross me again, or..."

"They're gone, Kai."

"I can see that."

"Here, have a drink.."

"Yes, and then I'll be off.."

"I'll tell Ray to take you, you're in no state to go home on your own."

"Why do they all leave me?"

"Now don't start, Kai, you've brought this onto yourself, you know that."

"I can't help if I am offended when no one tells me anything!"

"You just don't listen."

"Maybe its better that way, reality is really such a bore."


	4. Chapter 4

Snow fell on the window pane. His head was splitting. The cold re-emerged inside him, after a whole evening of warmth and scalding. Ray had taken him back home, the warmth left him as he shut the door to his tiny, gloomy room. The fireplace was cold, wet. He hated everything, he hated Hilary, Tyson, Max , Emily, Starling. All had left him on his own, turned against him. All except one. He hoped his Muse would reappear soon.

The kitchen looked sad, the shoes murky. Yesterday evening had looked so promising. He was alone in the kitchen with the cook, who occasionally glanced up at him from the chicken she was plucking. He didn't feel anything, no pride, no self-obsessed emotions flooded his insides as they usually did. No, he did feel something. He felt cold.

"We meet again."

"Ray! Hello, um I trust you are well?"

"Should it not be me asking you that question?"

"Well, I suppose I could be better...Writing columns in a mediocre newspaper is not exactly my idea of a decent career, but who believed poetry was a decent one when I started?"

"I am glad you have found a way to support yourself, I must be off, my master is awaiting his daily dose of brandy."

"Yes, you should..."

"Good day, sir."

"Erm..wait, Ray, please,do you remember when we first met? And you came up to my room?"

"How could I forget.."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, forgive me, yes I remember, and I saw your ink and paper and admired the privilege you had to be able to write.."

"Can you not write then?"

" I was never taught."

"Shame, um, well...I could teach you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I could teach you how to write, no, I _shall._"

"It is very considerate of you, sir, but it is quite un-..."

"Please."

"...Very well."


End file.
